Mr Tough Guy
by Roland 'Jim' Lowery
Summary: Johnny 'The Fingers' Wildcat thought he was free and clear. He thought he could start a new life in Centerpoint City. Boy, was HE ever wrong.


The following short story is based on characters created and/or copyrighted by SEGA! Enterprises, DiC Productions, Archie Comic Publishers, Fleetway Comic Publishers, and the Taki Corporation. All other characters were created and copyrighted by Roland Lowery.

The author gives full permission to distribute this work freely, as long as no alterations are made and the exchange of monetary units is not involved. Any questions, comments, suggestions, or complaints should be sent to **esn1g(at)yahoo(dot)com**. Thank you.

* * *

"A mighty hunter, and his prey was man."  
-_Windsor Forest_, Alexander Pope

* * *

**Mr. Badass**  
by Roland Lowery 

**Monday, July 19  
3221 AD**

_It was late evening_ when the holding cell in Peacekeeper Substation M23 received its latest member of peacebreaking society, Johnny "The Fingers" Wildcat. The cell's five other occupants barely looked up as he was escorted in by a bored looking officer. After taking a cursory look around his new environment, Fingers stalked over to a wall-mounted bench and sat down, twitching his leg nervously.

No one really knew where Fingers got his nickname from . . . it just seemed as if everyone had been calling him that forever. If there was anyone who would've remembered its origin, they were probably long dead. People who were in the same business as Fingers - the gunrunning business - tended to either be quick and smart or slow and dead.

Most of Fingers' old friends hadn't been very fast.

The cougar himself, however, tended to be the speedy type. He'd even managed to get enough of a reputation among other smugglers that a rumor had started floating about that he was at least one-fourth cheetah. His uniformly tan fur and long, unruly brown hair didn't sport any spots and never would, but he didn't bother to try dissuading the rumors.

So, business had been good. Until he'd gotten caught, that was. Several months previous to his current incarceration, he'd taken a job with some other runners out of Dark Haven transporting a cache of illegally modified - and quite likely stolen, he'd figured - laser rifles. They had planned on dropping the package off in New Madronia, meaning they'd have to pass the boundary between the East and West Quadrants of the Aureon Territories. Worse, they were going to be passing close to Mobotropolis to shave some time off their schedule, a risky proposition considering the high concentration of bounty hunters and peacekeepers in the region.

Still, considering the price hike on weapons due to the Great War going on, the gain that would have been had seemed worth the risk, so Fingers and his associates had loaded up the freightgravs, powered up the stealth screens, and lit out across the Great Plains. They'd crossed the plains without a problem and even managed to slip through the border checks undetected. The ambush, unfortunately for them, had been laid out in the Great Forest.

Fingers found out later that prior to his group's hiring, another group of runners had been promised that particular job. Apparently, they weren't too happy to hear that their contract had been broken and Fingers et al had been signed on instead. As an act of highly unprofessional petty revenge, the rival runners had alerted the Mobotropolis authorities to the run and even managed to give them a fairly detailed description of the route they'd planned on taking. Badges had swarmed over the freights faster than any of the runners could react, and Fingers had wound up in a holding cell not very unlike the one in which he was currently cooling his heels.

His court date was quickly set, and he was released on bail through a bondsman. A stupid mistake, Fingers realized now, but it couldn't have been helped. He'd had a few hundred thousand credits sitting in his slush funds, but he hadn't had enough time to launder them into something that couldn't be traced. With only his legal assets to fall back on, he wouldn't have had enough to get out of that cell and figure out what he was going to do.

He was going to be found guilty, he had been sure of that. Pleading guilty still would have led to at least a few years in a rehabilitation center, years that he couldn't afford to lose if he was going to keep himself in the business. So he ended up making his second but - to him - utterly inevitable mistake.

He'd made a run for it. A run for it that screwed over his bondsman and, considering his new circumstances, hadn't been at all successful anyway.

* * *

"Hey, Fingers, man! What the hell are you doin' up in here again?" 

Fingers looked up, wild-eyed, and was surprised to see a familiar face standing over him.

"Stripe?"

The skunk flashed him a grin and sat down on the bench next to him. "The one and only!"

Phillip Stripe was an arsonist, though not a very good one. The furless maze of scars that covered the upper left side of his head attested to that fact, and the new patch on his right forearm that Fingers had never seen before told the cougar that the fact still hadn't caused him to give up the game.

"Walkers, man!" Fingers laughed gruffly as he slapped the other man on the back. "Ain't seen you in forever! I'd ask what you were in for, but I guess I already know that one."

Stripe winked and leaned back on the bench casually. "Baby," he said, "there ain't a damn thing on Mobius gonna keep me from makin' my lights. Y'shoulda seen this last one, man," he said, waving his hands in the shape of a circle. "Forty meters if it was a deci, man."

"No shit?" said Fingers. "Where from?"

"Side of the paintin' hall downtown. Shot half a kilo 'cross the skyline. Nearly took out a couple gravs." Stripe's grin widened a bit. "Figure they didn't like my artistic 'spression too much, tho'"

As the two of them chuckled, Stripe pulled out a twisted pack of cigarettes and offered one to Fingers, who accepted. He declined, however, to use Stripe's lighter and pulled out his own instead.

"I'm surprised they let you keep that in here," Fingers mumbled around his cigarette as he lit it. "Damn thing counts as a lethal fuckin' weapon."

Stripe shrugged. "Figure they figure only person I'll hurt with it is me," he said. "So, hey," he said after taking a drag, "you know me. But what _you_ in for? I heard they already had your ass a while back for gunnin' it."

Fingers' eyes went wild again and he started choking on - then violently coughing out - the cigarette smoke he'd just inhaled. Stripe started patting him on the back as he fought to keep from retching. After a few moments, he'd managed to recover and looked up to see everyone in the cell staring at him.

"You alright, man?" asked Stripe.

"Yah," Fingers replied with one last cough. "I'm just . . . yah."

"Look, if you don't wanna talk about it, tha's cool, I was just wonderin'."

"Naw, naw," Fingers said, "I . . . it's just so fuckin' _weird_, Stripe."

"What is?"

Fingers stared down at the cigarette in his hand, hoping that the other four people in the cell with them had gone back to doing whatever it was they were doing. He drew in a breath, held it, then let it out.

"I've been runnin' all sorts of weapons every which-a-way on this continent," he said, "y'know? I've faced down badges three times my size without blinkin', been in more than a couple shootouts . . . I've handled a good share of sticky situations before. Hell, Stripe, you know." He looked up at his friend. "You were there for a couple of 'em."

"Truth," said the skunk, nodding.

"So, tell me, Stripe," Fingers said, reaching over to put his hand on the other man's shoulder, "I ain't the type that scares, am I?"

The arsonist's eyebrows shot up. He'd never figured the cougar for a coward, and told him so. "Damn, baby," he said, "forget them peacekeepers . . . I seen you play ice with those damn Peace_bots_ before and come out clean. You _slick_, man. Cool the skin off a cucumb-"

"Well, I'm fucking well scared _now_," Fingers hissed.

In the silence that followed, he glanced around the cell and found, to his continued horror, that everyone was indeed still looking at him. He stared back at them for a few seconds, then gritted his teeth. _Too late now . . . _he thought.

"Hey, _fuck_ you, alright!" he yelled as he jumped up and jabbed an angry finger at them. "You shits think you're _brave?_ Think you're _tough?_ You ain't _shit_ next to him! You're fuckin' _nothing!_"

The four others - a beaver, a hedgehog, a chimp, and a cat - looked back and forth at each other for a moment, stunned at the sudden outburst. Fingers glared at each of them in turn before sitting back down and burying his face in his hands. No longer able to see anyone else and feeling a bit disoriented, it took him a few moments to recognize the ragged breathing filling the cell as his own. He felt Stripe put a comforting hand on shoulder and fought the impulse to shake it off. After a few more moments went by, the skunk cleared his throat.

"Uh, look, baby," Stripe said, "maybe I changed my mind. Maybe I do wanna hear about it now. Maybe . . . you gotta tell someone 'fore they send the PK shrink in here to muck your brains. Yah?"

"Yah," Fingers finally said, raising his head and wiping his nose on the back of his hand. His flicked the last of his cigarette, long forgotten and burnt down to the filter, into the drain set in the middle of the cell floor. "Yah, I think I better."

* * *

"You were right, Stripe," Fingers began, "I was taken in for gunnin' it a while back. Got bail. Then did somethin' stupid . . . I ran. Couldn't face it, man . . . still can't. Can't go into one of those damn 'rehabilitation centers'. They did that shit to my old man, y'know? Came back all different. Don't really matter if he came back better or came back worse. All I know, guy that came back wasn't my old man anymore and that just ain't right. 

"But, hell, I guess that don't make a damn bit of difference, since it's where I'm goin' whether I like it or not, now. 'Cause I ran. Just grabbed my bike and made a straight line for Centerpoint City as soon as I was sure I wouldn't be followed by any of the badges.

"I kinda liked it down in Centerpoint, I think. Nice lookin' place, and they got some good spots for biz. They got some kinda dragons campin' out 'round there, and the scales don't really like the freightways movin' by so close to their home. They don't really do anything serious 'bout it, but they like to put the torch to the side of one of the gravs every once in a while . . . caught wind of a few security fellahs working for CenTech or something talkin' 'bout how they'd like to give somethin' back on one of those trips. Still nothin' serious, just wantin' to give the scales a couple lovetaps with a stun cannon if they get to playin' too rough is all.

"And I thought to myself, hell . . . it'd be a sweet kinda setup if I managed to find them fellahs some stun cannons. Maybe even work through the right kinda folks for once, go legit, make some honest cash for once instead of sweatin' bullets every time I saw a badge or a 'bot drive by.

"So I got me a nice little apartment down there. Hadda use one of the few fake IDs a'mine the Mobo PKs hadn't already tagged to get it. Hadda use some of my black creds, too, 'cause I'd used up all my legit stuff just payin' the bondsman and I didn't figure they'd be tracin' it anyway . . . bastards shouldn'ta even known about it."

Fingers frowned deeply, looking like he'd taken a bite out of something nasty.

"But I figure _some_one had to a'been watchin' it," he said angrily, "'cause one day Mr. Badass showed up."

He heard a snort of laughter come from the other side of the cell. He pointed at the hedgehog and snarled, "You shut the fuck _up_, you son of a bitch!"

The hedgehog threw his hands up and rolled his eyes. "Hey," he said, "don't get all pissed off at _me_, dude. I just have my doubts about the guy's name actually being '_Mr. Badass_'."

"Yah, alright," Fingers said, subsiding and wringing his hands. "I dunno what his real name was. But believe me, he had _badass_ written all over him."

"Well what'd he look like, man?" asked Stripe.

"He was a weasel," Fingers said, closing his eyes, "and he had green eyes and purple fur-"

"You don't mean _Nack_ The Weasel, do ya?" the chimp interrupted.

Fingers opened his eyes. "Never heard of 'im," he said. "Might be."

"Heard 'bout him on this news vid one time," the chimp said. "Bounty hunter man, real sleek, real new to the guild, but been huntin' for a few years now. Risin' star, they called him."

"Risin' _nothing_," Fingers spat. "If Nack and Mr. Badass are the same, then this boy is on top of the walkdamned game right _now_. Now, can I get on with this shit, or are we gonna keep discussin' it in a walkdamned committee?

"Okay, then," he said a moment later. "Anyway, so I was sittin' at my new place, lookin' up some new contacts, lookin' for a couple stun cannons I could start up biz with, right? And I get this buzz at my door. Well, I don't know anybody in town yet - not real good, anyway - and those I do I gotta stay away from for a while. So I figure on ignorin' whoever it was. Might be the PK for all I know, and I wasn't just gonna let 'em in, yah?

"Well, the buzzer goes on a few more times, and finally I hear a solid knock on the door. Apparently the fellah decided on tryin' the old-fashioned way. Well, that finally got my attention, so I get up and turn on the outside cam to see what's goin' on.

"And standin' out there on my front step, clear as day, was Mr. Badass. He didn't even bother tryin' to cover it up. Wasn't dressed like a flower delivery guy or anything . . . everything about him just _screamed_ 'bounty hunter'! I mean, the guy was even pullin' the sides of his coat back so I could see his guns and everything!

"'Course, at the time, all I see is some damn greenhorn who thinks he can just walk up to the door and I'll come along quietly just 'cause he asks me. Didn't really occur to me then that he figured I was just about caught - that I actually was _already_ caught, really - and was just tryin' to give me a chance to give myself up without runnin' us both in circles.

"So I end up runnin' in the next room and grabbin' a pistol, then open up a window. The 'partment wasn't but a story up from a walkway, so I just hung out low enough that I could let go and hit the ground without hurtin' myself. As I started runnin' away, I looked back over my shoulder for just a second and saw Badass' head stickin' out the window I just came through. Guess he didn't feel much like waitin' for me anymore and just came on in, easy as you please.

"I looked back at where I was goin' for a moment, then looked behind me again to see the fellah jump clear off the window sill straight to the walkway, and he starts runnin' after me without missin' a beat!"

"Impactweave," the cat said with a low whistle. "Pretty slick. Mighty expensive, too." She grinned and winked slowly at Fingers. "Unless you know the right people."

"Yah, well I wasn't really thinkin' about his boots at the time, babe," Fingers said. "Anyway, it was about evening time then and there were a few folks just startin' to come in from their jobs. I knew them hunters usually got some way of knockin' out their target from a long ways off, so I started throwin' people directly between me and him as I was runnin', hopin' they'd get caught in the stun beam or take most of the stun grenade or whatever.

"But the whole time, man, he just keep runnin' along behind me, swervin' around the people like they weren't even there. And the scariest thing . . . he didn't _say_ nothin'. I mean, not a _word_. Y'know the badges, they're always shoutin' up a storm the second they see ya doin' something wrong, and even a lot of these hunters will tell you to stop your ass from movin' before they put a laser or two in it. But Mr. Badass just pushed along, mouth shut, lookin' like he wasn't doin' anything more than a mornin' jog.

"I knew I hadda get away from this bastard, but I wasn't gettin' anywhere just runnin' along. We'd come along to the apartment place's parking lot, so I ran around behind this big ol' Econograv for a second. I looked around and started pickin' my away around the vehicles, tryin' to stay out of his sight, or at least confuse him enough that I could shake him for a little bit.

"No such damn luck. As I'm ditchin' around a Fegetti, I see him a little ahead of where I was, lookin' back at me. And even though I know he knows I saw 'im, he still just moves along silently towards me, not tellin' me to freeze or nothin'. It was about there that I really noticed it, and it was already startin' to get to me.

"But now that I knew where he was, I sure as hell wasn't gonna keep goin' that way. I doubled back and started pickin' out a new path, and this time I started checkin' the gravs as I passed, lookin' to see if I could find one that still had it's magkey in it or something. He just kept ploddin' along behind me, the only sound the clompin' of his boots. But damn if I didn't get stupid again . . .

"I kept checkin' the cars as I went by, and soon I was payin' that more mind than I was him. I didn't notice he'd circled back ahead of me again until he was already standin' there, aimin' his pistol at me. Quick as I could, I aimed mine right back up at him. I was breathin' a little heavy from the runnin' and the stress by then, but he was just as cool and quiet as ever, and it was startin' to freak me the hell out.

"So I yelled at him, 'Drop the gun, man, drop the walkdamned gun! Just fuckin' drop it! I'll fuckin' shoot you, I swear I will!' . . . and the whole time, he's just . . . _staring_ at me.

"'I'll do it! I'll fuckin' shoot you!' And still . . . just _starin'_. Not sayin' a damn thing. From the look on his face, man, I'm not kiddin' you . . . he didn't look worried that I was gonna shoot him. He just looked . . . _mad_. Like he was pissed off 'cause I'd made him run after me. Like even if I _did_ shoot, it wouldn't matter, 'cause he'd still be draggin' my ass back to Mobotropolis.

"Like I was _nothin'_."

The cell fell silent for a few moments. Stripe looked around at the other four Mobians as he continued patting his friend on the shoulder. Fingers still had their attention, of course, but unlike before they seemed less morbidly fascinated by the new whacko in the cell and more . . . frightened. Frightened of what he was telling them. Hell, he couldn't blame them . . . he was starting to feel a little creeped out himself.

Fingers finally cleared his throat and continued.

"After maybe a minute, half-minute of me yellin' and cursin' at him," he said, "I just kinda started to trail off. It was like . . . like his face was one of those glaciers, man, slowly cuttin' through anything in its path. It didn't matter what I said or did. He didn't care.

"I finally lost my nerve, powered down my gun, and slowly set it on the ground. I put my hands up in the air, and all he did was raise an eyebrow. Still not sayin' nothin', just the eyebrow. After a second, I get the message and lay down on the ground and put my hands behind my head. Less than a few seconds later, and fellah had me locked down and was draggin' me across the lot to where he'd parked. Slung me across the back of his bike, strapped me down, and brought me here.

"And damn if even while they were processin' me, he didn't say a damn thing. Not to me, not to the badges. Just signed his papers and left.

"So, you guys can call him Nack," he said with a nod to the chimp. "You can call him whatever the hell you like. But to me . . .

"To me, he will _always_ be _Mr. Badass_."

* * *

About the time Fingers was finishing up the story of his capture to the temporary residents of the Substation M23 holding cell, Nack the Weasel had just stepped into the Bounty Hunters' Guild after running a few other errands. He nodded curtly to a few of the faces he'd seen before as he made his way to the door that led to the back offices of the building. He'd had a rather tiring day and was looking forward to a little downtime in the main lounge area. 

A quick passcode and thumbprint check gained him access to the small back office foyer. He stopped at the weaponproof window on his right and tapped on it, getting the attention of the young secretary sitting on the other side. She smiled briefly at him and, as she continued talking on the comm, slid a digipad under the window. After digging out his guild ID and sliding it through the pad's slot, he quickly filled out a form with a few last details on the Johnny "Fingers" Wildcat capture.

Finished with the last bit of headache for the day, Nack slipped the pad back through the slot and tapped the window again. When the secretary looked up, he pointed at a small tray sitting next to her elbow. She smiled, nodded, and slipped some of the tray's contents under the window to him. He quickly scooped most of them into one of his coat pockets, but kept one out and unwrapped it.

"_Thanks_," he rasped as he popped the cough drop in his mouth, then started down the hall in search of some much needed rest.

**END**

Roland Lowery  
esn1g(at)yahoo(dot)com

September 23, 2005


End file.
